I have watched my mother's gradual descent into the throws of dementia. It is a devastating disease. I have witnessed a woman who had so much vigor and zest for life succumb to the memory disorder she now confronts.There are good days and then there are explosively bad days. I hurt inside for her-- beautiful, soft-souled, my maman...
When Maman calls out for him...
Searching throughout the mere two-bedroom house
each day&night– as he sneaks
to pee and hide– a while.
The constant calling out,
fifty-one years, now
in their years golden;
sunset nears
one can still hear,
Maman call out for him; “Papa... Papa Jean...
Ou’es tu?...”
he seldom responds.
He plays a mischievous game,
in his laconic, learned retreat.
She was the head of the household
and raised two sons almost alone.
He would visit all that he made
in the late mid-night hours– after work.
A chef is a trade of men. Raising children
the trade&love of a maman... calling out
for him...for him...”Ou’es tu?
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Maman is a super woman in my book and you convey it well.
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